


The Road Less Traveled

by hildejohanne



Category: NCIS
Genre: Drama, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Episode Related, Not a Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2019-03-02 06:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13312041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hildejohanne/pseuds/hildejohanne
Summary: Tony's injured, forcing Gibbs to examine his feelings for his second in command.





	1. The Road Less Traveled

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Jessi, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [ MTAC](https://fanlore.org/wiki/MTAC), an archive of NCIS fanfiction which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after August 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator (and this work is still attached to the archivist account), please contact me using the e-mail address on [ the MTAC collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/mtac/profile)

  
Author's notes: The story is partly based on a prompt by mrsdinozzo.  
Hugs and thanks to tutncleo for acting as a sounding board and a beta!  


* * *

The Road Less Traveled

”Gibbs.” 

Special Agent Jethro Gibbs was standing outside Starbucks, waiting for his second in command to arrive. Tony was late, and the annoyance mounting inside Gibbs seeped into his voice as he answered the call. 

”Boss…” Tony croaked. He mumbled something that was drowned out by a passing bus. Gibbs turned around and walked into a nearby alley in search of something resembling quiet. 

”Speak up, DiNozzo! Where the hell are you? If you’re out chasing women on my time again, I swear I’ll have your balls for dinner.” 

Tony had been coming in late a few times the past couple of weeks, mumbling something about a Candy or Cindy or whatever the flavor of the month was called. 

Silence ensued, broken only by some muffled sounds Gibbs couldn’t quite decipher. His patience was wearing thin as images of a busty blonde forced their way into his mind. 

“Tony, will you just get your ass over here, we’re running late as it is.” 

“They got me, Boss. Don’t know where I am, or who they are.” Tony was talking intently, his voice barely over a whisper. Gibbs held a hand over his other ear to drown out the traffic. His heart rate was picking up as he tried to catch every word Tony was saying.

“I’m in a car, an Explorer or a van, I’m not….”

The rest of the sentence was cut off by a piercing scream of pain before the line went dead. 

******

Tony noticed the cold first, seeping into his very bones. He couldn’t quite understand why he’d be so cold. His bed was usually much warmer than this, and more comfortable, not anything like this hard unyielding surface his face was pressed against. He wondered where his pillow had gone. He slowly realized he was not in bed. Had he fallen asleep on the floor? He couldn’t remember being that tired last night. His head ached, yet he couldn’t remember drinking. “Shit, Anthony, not good….not good at all,” he mumbled. 

An unfamiliar scraping sound near his head had him awake and aware in a split second. 

“Get the fuck up,” a voice hissed. Tony pried open one eye as he tried to get an idea of the mess he was in. “Who sent you?” 

Tony was dragged to his feet and plopped onto a chair. His arms were secured behind his back and his feet tied to the legs of the chair. Tony shook his head trying to clear his mind. Things were still fuzzy. A car. He’d been thrown into the back of a Ford, an Explorer of some kind. He looked around. A room. He tried to get an idea of where he was. No room, a warehouse. He was in a warehouse. That was why he was cold. Or was it shock? His confused mind kept firing questions, searching for answers. Three men. Armed. Information steadily trickled in and he attempted to process it all, but his brain wouldn’t cooperate quickly enough right now. He shot furtive glances around the large space as he slowly assessed the shit he was in. 

A hard slap across his face brought his attention back to his captor. Tony looked at him warily. He hated not having all the answers, hated being out of the loop. The man in front of him was tall and muscular. He was white, in his 40s. A dark cap cast a shadow across his face, blurring his features. Tony’s brain registered the flood of details, even if he wasn’t able to take it all in. The man kept looking at him, eyes hidden behind mirror lens sunglasses. Tony could see his own reflection in them; making the situation he was in even more real. This was no cool movie where the hero – Tony - would kick loose from his restraints and disarm them all with a couple of well-placed uppercuts. He was in deep shit. ‘You don’t need Gibbs’ gut to tell you that,’ he thought wryly. He’d been so focused on making sure Henderson wouldn’t spot him, thereby overlooking other gangs operating in the area. He looked down on his red Ohio State jacket, grimacing as he realized it was dirty and torn. 

“So, pretty boy, which motherfucker sent you? Huhn? Was it…”

“Hey, shut up,” a gruff voice bellowed. “No need to give him more than he already knows, is there?” The man moved into Tony’s line of vision. “Is there, sweetie?” he smiled maliciously. “What do you want?”

Yeah, good question. Why was he here? Why? Because he was an idiot who couldn’t let go, that’s why. It had been a Team Gibbs: 0 - Bad Guys: 10 kind of month. He didn’t know why he couldn’t let this particular case go. It wasn’t the first time an arrogant, ruthless drug dealer got away, and it wouldn’t be the last. He and Gibbs had spent what seemed like endless hours in the interrogation room with the suspect; Lewis Henderson, smirking at them. The cocaine baron had that confident, invincible look about him that reminded Tony of his father. As a result, he’d spent the last couple of weeks staking out the various locations they’d established Henderson worked out of. Nothing. He’d even been late for work a few times, trying to track him down. 

Tony wasn’t sure Gibbs actually bought his cover stories, and he knew he was walking a fine line here. Mentally headslapping himself, he tried to get his act together, knowing Gibbs would want him to try to gather as much intel as possible. And stay alive. He didn’t have permission to die, not today. His right hand still throbbed from being stepped on. He’d barely had time to speak to Gibbs before he was found out. McGee, Tony smiled inwardly. McGee would be able to trace the call.

He suddenly found himself lying on the floor, dazed after the hard impact of his head against the concrete. 

“Answer me, you little shit. Who are you?”

“I’m Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, NCIS,” Tony muttered, still a little woozy from the blow to his head. ‘Hell…just what ya need, DiNozzo, another concussion. Not like you haven’t gotten your fair share of those through the years.’ He made a conscious effort to pull himself together. 

Tony noticed the surprised look flickering across the face of the man closest to him. He bent down and rooted through Tony’s pockets, pulling out his ID. He flicked it open impatiently. 

“Navy cops? What the fuck does NCIS want with us?” One of the men standing behind them sounded puzzled. 

Tony turned his head to get a better look at the guy. No one knew NCIS. He was barely half way there before a savage blow to his head sent him spiraling into darkness again. 

******

Gibbs felt himself go cold. “No,” he muttered, “not Tony. Not happening.” He pressed speed dial 3 and waited impatiently for McGee to pick up. 

“Get a fix on Tony’s phone. Have Ziva meet me where he made his last call,” he barked, as soon as the call was answered. 

“What’s happened, Boss,” McGee began, “is Tony in…”

“Just get the damn trace, McGee!” Gibbs yelled, before killing the connection. Taking a deep breath, Gibbs ran out of the ally in search of his car. He got in, turned the key to the ignition and sat there, staring into space a moment before he pulled out. Where to? He had no idea where Tony was. Turning around, he headed back towards the Navy Yard, planning to gather the team, get as many men as possible on the search. 

His phone rang. He snapped it open, listening impatiently to McGee give him the location to Tony’s phone. 

“He’s in Brentwood,” McGee began, rattling off an address. 

“Stay on him, McGee, let me know if he moves. Tony’s kidnapped, probably injured.” He ignored McGee’s startled response. “I need as much man power as you can muster on this, McGee. Call Ducky and have him meet me there.” 

“What…” the younger agent interrupted. 

“Now, McGee!” Gibbs ended the call and turned north again, hurtling towards the location McGee had given him. He refused to consider what he could find there. There was just no way Tony would not come out of this ok. “I did not give you permission to die,” he shouted, pounding his fist into the steering wheel, cursing as he cut in front of a slow moving station wagon. “God damn Volvos,” he muttered, ignoring the startled faces peering at him from the other car. A loud blaring horn clearly signaled what the other driver thought of him. Gibbs took no notice of it. All that mattered was to get to Tony in time. 

******   
Tony regained consciousness, his head protesting loudly as he pried one eye open. He bit back a groan, not wanting to alert his captors that he was awake. He was inside a car and they were on the move. He could hear two male voices from the front of the vehicle, but wasn’t able to make out what was said. Ignoring the throbbing pain that had taken up residence behind his right eye, he tried to move his hands, only to find they were not tied together. ‘Sloppy,’ he thought. Tony searched the immediate area around his body, a wave of relief washing over him as he found what felt like his cell phone wedged behind a bag. ‘Very sloppy.’ He felt like cheering, but settled for pressing speed dial one. 

*****  
Gibbs’ phone rang and he flipped it open as he skidded around a corner, tires screeching as they fought to keep the car going forward. 

“He’s on the move, Bossman,” Abby said. “Tony’s going southeast on Eastern Ave.”

“Where’s McGee?” 

“He and Ziva are on their way. You find Tony, Gibbs, and bring him home. Ok?”

“I promise, Abby,” Gibbs said before hanging up again. Traffic was picking up, as rush hour approached. He was heading north on New York Ave. when Abby called again. 

“The signal’s moving right onto Bladensburg Rd., Gibbs, going south. Turn left, a couple of miles from your current location.”

Gibbs’ mind raced through possible scenarios as his eyes scanned the road, moving as fast as humanly possible. Who could have grabbed him? The list of possible suspects was too long. There was no way of knowing who could be responsible for this. He began to mentally cross off the most likely candidates, needing to do something. His phone rang again a couple of minutes later, interrupting his chain of thought. Gibbs’ heart skipped a beat as he glanced at the caller ID. DiNozzo. It was Tony. He was alive. 

“Tony,” he said. Silence. No reply. “Tony, if you can’t talk, press a button.”

He heard a faint beep and went on. “I’m coming to get you, Tony. You will be alright, you hear?” Another faint beep. “I’ve gotta hang up, Tony, Abby’s giving me directions.” 

He could hear Tony sigh, and then the phone went dead.

A few seconds later it rang again. “Gibbs,” he said tersely. 

“The car’s stopped, Gibbs, Pleasant Hill Cemetery. Turn right on Bladensburg Rd., they just passed New York Ave.”

He was only a few minutes behind Tony; he would make it in time. 

******

They were slowing down, and Tony could hear the noise from the traffic fading away. A few moments later the car stopped completely. Before he could react, the rear door was yanked open and suddenly Tony’s hand was pulled out, still clutching the cell. The door was slammed shut, crushing his fingers. The pain was excruciating and ripped a scream from him, his phone clattering as it fell onto the ground. A couple of guys appeared and he was hauled out by the scruff of his neck and pushed onto a lawn. A stone angel was gazing solemnly down on him and he looked around, confusion and fear mounting. Were they going to kill him? In the distance he could here a car approaching. Before he could call for help, a savage kick to his gut had him doubled over on the ground. He saw the man lift his foot, ready to plant that big, steel capped boot in Tony’s face when he suddenly disappeared from his line of vision. Tony suffered another blow to his head, before they were all gone. 

The ground felt surprisingly soft beneath his cheek, and he struggled to hold onto consciousness a little bit longer. Gibbs. He had to call Gibbs…had…why…

He dimly registered the car revving its engine, the sound getting louder and louder. A searing pain ripped through his leg, before the car sped away. Darkness swept him up and he let it, relieved the agony was gone.

******  
Gibbs turned into the cemetery, his eyes sweeping the grounds as he forced himself to drive slowly. The place was nearly deserted; he could see a group of nuns dressed in vivid blue robes walking off in the distance. He was driving up a small hill, turning around a bend in the road when a glimpse of red caught his eye amongst all the green grass and stone monuments. As he got closer, Gibbs could see it was a man, unmoving and pale. Tony. The red Ohio State jacket was unmistakable, even though he hadn’t seen him wear it in a while. He cut across the lawn and got out his phone, quickly giving his location to Ducky. There was no time to waste, they needed to get Tony to the hospital. In the distance he could hear a car speeding away, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was Tony. 

Tony looked pale and lifeless, not the animated, vibrant picture he normally presented. His face was covered in several blooming bruises, and dried blood had stained his shirt. The front of his jacket was torn and Gibbs could see that his right hand was swollen; a couple of fingers looked broken. 

Trying not to jostle Tony too much, he looked him over carefully, as the full extent of his injuries became clear. A nearly uncontrollable rage rose in him when he realized that the marks on Tony’s pants were tire marks and his leg was broken. 

Gibbs gently brushed the hair away from Tony’s forehead as he said his name, trying to get his attention. 

“You came,” Tony croaked, looking at Gibbs through his good eye. Gibbs let his hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Tony’s fingers closed around his wrist, holding on when Gibbs tried to let go.

“Can’t have you goofing off on my time, DiNozzo. Gotta haul your ass back into the office, you still have all those folders to file,” Gibbs replied, in a feeble attempt to crack a joke.

“Yeah, love you too, boss,” Tony smiled, before closing his eyes again, going very still. 

“Tony, you with me?” Gibbs asked, his fingers gently stroking Tony’s face. There was no reaction. Cradling Tony’s head in his lap, he flipped open his phone again, wondering where the hell Ducky was. Before he got that far, the NCIS van pulled up, closely followed by an ambulance. The quiet cemetery was soon a beehive of activity, as Tony was stabilized and driven off. 

Gibbs was ready to follow the ambulance when McGee and Ziva pulled up. “What the hell took you so long?” Gibbs demanded, as they walked over to him. McGee appeared unfazed by his terse tone; he even looked strangely satisfied. 

“We arrested the guys that had Tony,” McGee declared to Gibbs’ surprise. “Abby told us where Tony was located, and Metro assisted us, blocking the entrances to the cemetery. As soon as the car exited, we had them.” He paused. “How’s Tony doing?” he asked, worry bleeding into his voice. 

“How the hell did you manage to get there in time?” Gibbs wanted to know, ignoring the question. He refused to dwell on the memory of a battered Tony right now. 

“We got lucky,” McGee conceded. “Metro had a couple of cruisers in the area, and one entrance was already blocked due to maintenance on the gate.” 

“Good work, McGee,” Gibbs nodded; pleased they’d managed to find the bastards. “You and Ziva head back to the Yard, I’ll be at Bethesda if you need me.” He’d turned around when Ziva grabbed his arm. “How is Tony, Gibbs? Will he be alright?” Her eyes were large and worried, and she was uncharacteristically subdued. 

“I don’t know, Ziva. He was conscious when I got to him, but he was out by the time the paramedics arrived. I’ll let you know as soon as I have any news.” 

“You don’t want to interrogate them?” Ziva asked, looking surprised. 

“No, you and McGee can handle it. I have somewhere else I need to be.” With that he left them, jogging over to his abandoned car as he was mentally mapping out the quickest route to the hospital.


	2. Chapter two

The drive to Bethesda seemed to take forever. In the back of his mind he registered a steady stream of blaring horns, flashing headlights and cars. Too many cars. They slowed him down, kept him from getting to his wounded agent quickly enough. Agonizing minutes later he burst through the doors of the hospital, and quickly headed towards the ER. Flipping open his phone, he ignored the dismayed glare from a passing nurse, as he walked through the endless hospital corridors. 

“Ducky!” he said, as the phone was picked up on the other end. “How is he? Where are you?”

“We’re in the Emergency Room, Jethro, Building 9, at the back.”

“I damn well know which building it’s in, Ducky!” Jethro growled, before ending the call. A couple of minutes later he burst through the doors of the ER, looking around until he found Dr. Mallard. 

“Where is he?” he demanded. 

“They’re trying to determine how serious his injuries are. He’s undergoing a neurological exam at the moment, and will have a CT scan as soon as the initial exam is concluded. They also need to x-ray his leg and his head, to make sure there’s no head trauma or…”

“Head trauma?” Gibbs interrupted. “Is he still unconscious?” 

“Not at the moment, no,” Dr. Mallard reassured him.

“I need to see him,” Gibbs said, moving to walk further into the room, to seek Tony out. He could see a discarded red and white jacket lying in a heap on a chair, realizing that was where Tony was. 

“Not, yet, Jethro. Let them do their job, we can see him later.”

“I can’t…” Gibbs started, but was interrupted by a voice behind him, calling him name.

Turning around, he came face to face with Ziva. “What the hell are you doing here?” Gibbs yelled, the moment he saw her. 

She stuck her chin out defiantly. “McGee’s handling the booking. I wanted to make sure Tony was ok. We’re letting the perps stew for a while, anyway, before we interview them.”

Gibbs got into her personal space and spoke very clearly and quietly. “I expect you to follow orders, Ziva. If I can’t trust you, you’re off my team. You got that? Tony’s my responsibility, not yours.”

Ziva looked as if he’d struck her. “You can’t…”

“I can’t what, Ziva? Tell you what to do?” he yelled. “I sure as hell can,” he growled. Gibbs dimly registered people turning to look at them, but couldn’t care less right now.

“Jethro!” A strong hand on his arm had him turn around. “Come with me,” Ducky said firmly. 

Gibbs opened his mouth to protest, but recognizing the look in his friend’s eyes, he conceded, with a sigh.

“Don’t tell me how to run my team, Ducky,” he began, “just don’t.”

“What has gotten into to you, Jethro, I haven’t seen you this agitated since…” he broke off, as if he suddenly realized something. 

“Since what, Ducky?” Jethro growled impatiently. 

“I’m sorry, my friend, I should have grasped this earlier,” Dr. Mallard said absentmindedly. “You deal with Ziva, and I’ll get an update on Tony’s condition.” 

Gibbs felt relieved. He knew he was missing a couple of clues, but then again, Ducky’s ramblings often didn’t make much sense to him. 

Ziva was waiting by the entrance, arms crossed over her chest. She had an unreadable expression on her face. He assumed she was pissed as hell, but right now he wasn’t interested in considering her feelings.

“Why are you still here,” he asked tersely the moment he reached her. 

“I told you why,” she replied, her eyes flashing angrily. “I want to know what’s happening to Tony.”

“There’s no news yet, Ziva. Get back to the yard.” Gibbs turned around and went in search of Ducky again. He found him talking to a man who introduced himself as Dr. Thomas Selleck. 

“We’re just about ready to take Agent DiNozzo up for a CT scan,” the doctor explained. 

“Boss,” a voice behind him croaked. 

“Hey, Tony,” Gibbs said, “I just spoke to Dr. Selleck. They will examine your head, make sure you don’t have any internal injuries.”

“Yeah, how cool is that?” Tony replied, “I’m being treated by Dr. Selleck. Last time it was Dr. Pitt, and this time it’s Magnum!” He giggled, and Gibbs got worried. 

“Hey, Doc, he’s not making much sense.”

“What happened?” Dr. Selleck asked, as he flipped out a small penlight, and shone it into Tony’s eyes. 

“He’s talking about being treated by Magnum, and something about when he was here with the Y Pestis?” To his surprise, the doctor just smiled. 

“Ah, another Magnum PI fan,” he sighed. “I get a lot of that.” He noticed the frown on Gibbs’ face and explained, “Magnum was played by Tom Selleck. No relation,” he added. “And no moustache.”

“So he’s not delirious,” Gibbs clarified, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease up a fraction. 

“No, he’s not,” the doctor assured him before they wheeled Tony towards the elevators. 

As the gurney rolled past him, Tony’s arm shot out and grabbed Gibbs’ hand. “Will you be here when I get back?”

When he nodded, Tony let go and closed his eyes, looking at peace as he was taken away.

Dr. Mallard returned a few minutes later, handing Gibbs a cup of coffee. “You look like you need it,” he remarked. 

“Yeah, I do. What a mess,” he declared, sipping carefully. He felt like pacing, but made a conscious effort to remain calm. 

“Tony will be gone for a while, why don’t we find the cafeteria and have a bite to eat?” the older man suggested. 

“Not hungry,” Gibbs grunted, reluctant to leave the ER. 

“Well, I am. Indulge an old man, won’t you? Tony is in good hands, Jethro, and since I assume you will be spending the night here, we need to prepare for that. My father’s cousin Iain used to say that half the journey was done before the trip itself. Think ahead, he would say, always leave room for the unexpected. One year, he was hiking in the Central Highlands…” 

Lifting his hands in mock surrender, Gibbs let himself be guided down into the dining hall in the basement of the building. The line wasn’t too long, and soon they each had a tray of warm food. He didn’t have much of an appetite, but he knew Ducky wouldn’t let this go. They sat down in a quiet corner, both tucking into their stew/hamburger. Gibbs eyed the vegetables suspiciously; he’d never been a fan of overcooked peas and carrots.  
He glanced at Ducky and found his friend looking at him, worry and concern etched into his features. 

“He will be ok, you know, Ducky,” Gibbs said quietly. “Tony’s a fighter, he’ll pull through this. If he’s remembering Magnum, they can’t have kicked him too hard in the head,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Actually, I am worried about you, Jethro,” Ducky replied, to Gibbs’ surprise.

“I’m not the one you should be concerned about, Ducky,” Gibbs said firmly.

“You don’t usually react like this when one of your team is injured, not even Tony.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Gibbs shook his head. “I yelled at him, Ducky, when he called me the first time. I thought he was sneaking off with another woman.” Gibbs looked down at his food, pushing the offending peas around on his plate. “I immediately thought he was slacking off, and I guess I feel bad about that,” he admitted. 

“Mmm,” Ducky replied, not looking entirely convinced. “Young Anthony has done so in the past,” he agreed, “I think we all remember the pretty blonde Ari used for bait. I was not aware, however, that he has pulled a stunt like that in a long time.”

”He’s been distracted,” Gibbs defended himself. “Coming in late a few times, shutting me out.”

“Interesting,” Dr. Mallard nodded. “I still don’t understand…”

“There’s nothing to understand, Ducky, or analyze. Tony was in danger, and I wasted valuable time yelling at him.”

“You came through, Jethro. You got there in time. They could have…”

“Yeah, let’s not go there, Ducky,” Gibbs interrupted. “So, what happened to your cousin Iain?” he went on, eager to change the topic. 

“Who? Ah, I’m afraid I made that up. He was my cousin, well, more like an uncle, really, since he was my father’s cousin. Iain was considerably older than me, but I adored him as a child. He used to come up every summer, taught me how to play poker and bridge.” 

“Hang on, made what up?” Gibbs asked, finally catching up with the doctor’s tale.

“Ah, yes. I assumed, correctly if I may say, that if you had to choose between a meal and one of my rambling stories, food would win out.”  
Gibbs laughed out loud. “You’ve got a devious mind, Duck. But,” he said, lifting up a hand when he saw the doctor was about to protest, “you’re a good friend, thanks.”

They finished their meal in silence.

“So, what lies ahead for Tony?” Gibbs asked, as they were nursing their second cup of hospital coffee an hour later. 

“It will depend on the extent of his injuries, as you well know. I’m sure they are going to keep him in for observation for a 24 hr period. Why don’t we just wait and see until they bring him back?” he suggested, glancing at his wrist watch. “Why don’t you check in with McGee, Jethro, while I find out which room Anthony will be in.”

Gibbs looked at Ducky’s retreating back, then fished out his cell and called McGee. The phone rang a few times before he picked up.   
“Sorry, Boss. Had to get out of interrogation bef...”

“What’ve you got, McGee?” Gibbs interrupted, impatience mounting inside him. 

“Not much yet, Boss. It appears they thought Tony was after information about their operation. One of them is a known drug dealer, has a few convictions for assault. Metro has tried to get a case against him for drugs, but he’s slipped through the net, so far. It seems to be a case of mistaken identity, Boss.” He paused. “We did pick up Tony’s signal close to one of Henderson’s known locations, he might have been doing some investigation on his own,” McGee suggested carefully. 

“Damn it,” Gibbs cursed “I’ll kick his ass as soon as he gets out of the hospital,” he muttered. 

“How is Tony, any news, Boss?” McGee asked.

“Don’t know yet,” Gibbs replied. “I’ll call as soon as I know more,” he promised. “Good job, McGee.”

“Actually, it was Ziva who got them talking. She can be very…uhm…persuasive,” McGee said. “I’m not sure I’ve seen Ziva this…uh…determined since the Murray murder.”

Gibbs nodded to himself, remembering the murder/mutilation case they had solved a year earlier. 

“I need a favor, McGee. There’s an overnight bag in my car. Bring it over later, I’m staying the night.”

“Will do, Boss.”

Gibbs ended the call. He rubbed his hand wearily over his face before going in search of Dr. Mallard. Maybe there was news about Tony, maybe he would get to see him, make sure he was ok.

Gibbs went back upstairs, to the ER. He wasn’t sure where Ducky had gone, but the information desk should provide Gibbs with the details he needed. Walking through the ER, he couldn’t see Dr. Mallard anywhere, but Gibbs knew he would be back as soon as he had something.

Still, he couldn’t just sit and wait. He had to do something, anything, to alleviate the sinking feeling in his stomach. He’d failed Tony. Why hadn’t he picked up on the fact that Tony was running an undercover op on his own? “God damn it,” he muttered, slamming his hand into the wall as a surge of anger flared up inside him. A passing doctor stopped and he smiled reassuringly, before going in search of the information desk.

Ten minutes later he was running through a corridor, checking the numbers on the doors as he passed them. He wasn’t sure whether Tony was there yet, it depended on the results of the x-rays. Room 209, he was getting close. He slowed down and stepped up to 215. The door was ajar and he spotted an empty bed inside. No Tony. Disappointed, he walked inside and found Ducky gazing out the window. 

“Jethro!” he exclaimed, “I was just about to call you. Any news from McGee?”

“It was probably a case of mistaken identity. They thought Tony was spying on them, gathering information for a rivaling drug operation. I’ll kick his ass to kingdom come for this,” he growled.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid that particular type of corporal punishment will have to wait for a while, Jethro,” Dr. Mallard admonished. “The preliminary results of the test suggest no serious head trauma, although he does have a severe concussion. No head slaps, either, Jethro, should that urge arise.” 

“I’m not a total idiot, Ducky,” Gibbs muttered.

“Yes, well, that remains to be seen,” the doctor said, cocking an eyebrow as he held Gibbs’ eyes.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Gibbs sighed. “Fine, Ducky. I promise not to lay a hand on Tony, how’s that?”

“What, no headslaps?” 

Gibbs turned around, and found himself looking at a very pale Tony. “Well, no headslaps for now, DiNozzo. Come next week all bets are off,” he grumbled, but couldn’t quite keep a smile off his face. Gibbs hadn’t realized how tense he’s been until he felt his stomach unclench a bit at the sight of his second in command. Alive, breathing, even trying to crack a joke. 

Gibbs turned to the doctor that accompanied Tony as the nurses got him settled, hooking up to the various machines that were monitoring his condition. Gibbs wasn’t sure what half of it was, but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that Tony was fine.

“I’m Special Agent Gibbs, Agent DiNozzo’s boss at NCIS”

The doctor shook his hand, and introduced himself, “Dr. Weir.” He glanced at his charts and continued. 

“As far as we have been able to ascertain, there is no sub-cranial bleeding or trauma. Normally, we’d keep him in the ER for a few hours, but we’re unusually busy today, which is why he’s transferred to the medical ward. We’d like to keep him here for observation, at least for another day. The x-rays confirmed he has a broken fibula. It was a clean break, and his leg is set and in a cast. He will be out of commission for a while, although he’s already nagging the nurses about an early release. Something about a boss that will be on his case if he’s not back on duty tomorrow.”

Gibbs snorted. “That would be me. Believe me, he won’t see the inside of the bullpen for a very long time.”

“Bullpen?”

“Our squad room at NCIS,” he clarified. 

“The leg injury will keep him from active duty for a while, but he can be back on desk duty in a couple of weeks. He’s got a serious concussion, Agent Gibbs, and will need rest to ensure that complications won’t occur.”

“I’ll make sure of that,” Gibbs said grimly, turning to look at Tony’s pale form. There was no way in hell he’d let Tony back at NCIS for at least that amount of time, no matter how much he begged. Tony met his gaze and managed a weak smile before he closed them again. 

******  
The room was quiet, apart from the faint sounds from the hallway. Tony was asleep, resting peacefully. The afternoon seemed to have passed in a blur. Between all the nurses, the tests and the checkups, there had been no time for Gibbs to talk to Tony. He got up and walked to the bathroom, needing to wash up for the evening. McGee and Ziva had been by with his overnight bag. They’d stayed a couple of minutes with Tony, both clearly needing to assure themselves he was ok. Ziva still looked upset, but he had no time for her ruffled feathers. Abby had been strangely subdued. He’d promised to call her if Tony’s condition changed. After an hour by his side, she’d finally gone home, but not before promising to be back in the morning. She’d left Bert by Tony’s side, resting his injured hand on the soft toy. 

Ducky had remained behind, offering to sit with Tony through the night. Gibbs had flatly refused, urging the older man to go home and rest. “He’ll need us in the coming week, Ducky. I’m sure he’ll persuade the docs here to spring him into your care. I’m gonna need you to stop by the house, make sure he’s recovering as he should.”

“You’re taking him home?” Dr. Mallard had asked, 

“Of course I’m taking him home,” Gibbs had retorted, “I’m not sleeping on that lumpy old couch of his!”

“Are you sure you’re the best choice, Jethro? You’ve not been in the best of moods today, even for you. Anthony needs rest, and not to be subjected to your particular brand of…uh… care.”

Gibbs had snorted, “Ya think, Ducky? I might be a bastard, but I’m not that big of a bastard. I want to keep an eye on him, and he can have the den. He won’t have to climb the stairs every day. I’ll even have McGee set up his TV in there, when he’s well enough to watch it.”

Ducky had still seemed doubtful, but Gibbs had been adamant. The subject was closed. Before Dr. Mallard had left for the evening, he’d managed to arrange for a bed for Gibbs. Although he’d thought it was excessive at the time, right now he was grateful for the opportunity to stretch his legs, to lie down and have some rest. He wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep, there were too many thoughts swirling around in his head, each too fleeting to grasp. 

In the end, he’d settled for watching Tony’s still form. The light was turned down low, to give Tony a chance to rest. He felt himself calm down as he listened to Tony’s steady breathing. After a while he turned onto his back, and lay gazing at the ceiling when he heard Tony move.

“You stayed,” he said quietly.

“Mhm,” Gibbs replied, too tired to say much.

“I’m sorry,” Tony went on, “I should have…”

“Yeah, ya should have,” Gibbs interrupted. “Let it go, Tony. You need to rest.”

Tony didn’t reply, just turned his head slowly and looked at Gibbs. “When are you leaving?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Tony. Try and get some sleep, Tony, we’ll talk in the morning.”

There was a long pause, and Gibbs looked up to see if Tony had fallen asleep. He found him still looking troubled. “DiNozzo!” he grumbled, “Get some shuteye, will ya?!?”

“Yes, Boss…”

Soon after the room fell quiet again, as both men drifted off.


	3. The Road Less Traveled

Tony DiNozzo couldn't sleep. The unfamiliar sounds of the hospital had roused him from sleep before 0530. The insistent throbbing in his head didn't help either, reminding him of his stupidity the day before. He couldn't remember much, everything felt fuzzy and his head protested loudly as he looked around the room. It was still shady this early in the morning, and it took him a moment to identify his surroundings. He reached for the controls to the bed, only to realize his index finger was in a splint, taped to his middle finger. "At least I get out of typing reports for a while," he mumbled. Reaching clumsily for the controls with his left hand, Tony raised his bed up a bit, wanting to get a better idea of the damage. 

Soft and steady breathing from the bed next to his had him momentarily puzzled, but looking over, he saw his boss sleeping peacefully. His heart plummeted into his stomach and he realized how woozy he felt. God, he had fucked up. This had to be an all time low, even with his propensity to screw up. 

Tony ran his hand over his head, wishing he had a mirror. He could feel a bump the size of a goose egg on his temple and a dressing on the back of his head. An image of a man lifting his foot to kick him fleeted across his mind. He could vaguely remember being hit across the head a few times, but none of the details. Lifting the covers, he saw a dark blue bruise decorating the lower half of his left side. "Nice," Tony muttered. He wondered how long before Ducky would let him back on active duty. He became aware of his elevated leg, and his heart sank. He had no idea how serious the injury was. The thought of not being able to return to active duty had him momentarily panicked, but he refused to give in. No matter what, he would be back on the team. There was simply no other alternative. 

Sinking back into the pillows, he tried to make sense of his behavior these last few weeks. He couldn't explain to himself why he'd needed to solve this particular case. Maybe he'd just reached his limit, maybe he couldn't see another bad guy walk. Even as he tried to put it into words, he knew this wasn't the whole truth. They had the highest solve rate in the agency; most of the time they did catch their guy. What was so different this time? He closed his eyes and let his mind wander for a while, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his stomach and the fact that his bladder was screaming at him to get up. 

Giving in, he called for the nurse, who walked in a few minutes later. She took care of the business quietly and efficiently, which he was grateful for. He didn't want to wake Gibbs up, not yet. The thought of facing him just wasn't very appealing right now. 

"Hey, you sleep ok?"

"Sorry, boss, didn't mean to wake you," Tony mumbled, turning to look at the other man. He'd hoped to have a bit more time before having to face the music. He doubted his patented DiNozzo charm could get him out of this mess. 

"I could practically hear the wheels turning in your head. Wanna share?"

Tony snorted. "What, talk about my feelings? Since when have we done that?"

"You told me how you felt when you got framed for murder," Gibbs pointed out. 

"You gonna bring that up now? While I'm in hospital for fucking up again?" Tony replied incredulously. He was in no mood for a lecture. Not when his head was throbbing, and his stomach lurched every time he moved. 

"You didn't fuck up back then, Tony! You did fuck up now, and we're gonna have a talk about rule 15." 

"Like when you run off with Mike Franks?" Tony muttered, not ready to roll over just yet. 

In the silence that followed, Tony wondered if he'd crossed a line. Apparently, being zonked out on pain meds loosened his tongue. 

"At least I brought backup, damn it! How the hell could you do something this stupid, Tony? Haven't I slapped some sense into you yet?" 

"I'm…I don't…never mind," Tony said weakly and turned his head away from Gibbs. 

Tony shrunk in on himself, looking smaller and younger, and Gibbs immediately regretted having yelled at him. He realized, with a wince, that he didn't have the greatest track record when it came to following his own rules, at least not all of them. Still, he couldn't quite quell the anger that surged up inside when he thought about what could have happened to Tony. 

"I've disappointed you…" The words were spoken so quietly Gibbs could hardly hear them. 

Before Gibbs could reply, a bubbly nurse came into the room, wishing them both good morning. He didn't even have time to answer her before she whipped the curtain around Tony's bed closed. Gibbs could hear the sounds of a washcloth being wrung out as Tony was given a sponge bath. He stretched tentatively, groaning softly as an almost sleepless night made itself known. 'You're getting old, Gunny,' he thought wearily. Picking up his overnight bag, he headed into the en suite bathroom, hoping a long, hot shower would relax the knots he could feel in his shoulders. He was always worried when someone on his team was injured, but when it was Tony…He shook it off, refusing to go there.

Half an hour later Gibbs emerged feeling slightly more human. All he needed now was a cup of industrial strength coffee. He subconsciously checked the room, and found the nurse was gone. Tony sat propped up in bed, picking at a plate of food in front of him. The cereal clearly wasn't temping, and he looked like the mouthfuls he had eaten were threatening to come back up. That particular shade of green was not something he saw often on DiNozzo. The room was lit now, and Gibbs' anger flared up again when he saw the full extent of Tony's injuries. He made an effort to stay calm, taking a few calming breaths before walking closer. Tony studiously avoided looking at Gibbs as he walked up to his bed.

"Feeling ok, Tony?"

"What? Yeah…" Tony trailed off, still not looking at Gibbs. The bowl of fruit in front of him apparently held the meaning of life. 

"Has the doctor been by?" Gibbs asked, not wanting to push Tony further right now.

"Too early," was the brief reply. "The nurse said he'd be by in about an hour," Tony added, finally looking at Gibbs. He paused for a moment, and then seemed to make a decision. Gibbs recognized that look; he'd become pretty good at reading Tony over the years. 

"Look, I know I fucked up, Gibbs. Could you just yell at me and get it over with?" 

"No," Gibbs replied. "This was my fault, too. I should have known something was up. I wasn't paying attention." The warning signs had been there, he just hadn't recognized them. Tony had seemed preoccupied, but Gibbs had chalked that up the office rumors that his Senior Agent was dating again. He knew Tony hadn't been dating since the whole Jeanne travesty, so it should have been be a good sign that Tony was back in the saddle. He'd had a gnawing feeling in his gut ever since Tony had started mumbling about 'hot dates', and Gibbs silently cursed himself for not listening to his instincts. He hadn't, and now Tony was paying the price for that mistake.

"We both fucked this one up, Tony. Let it go."

Tony closed his eyes and sank back into the scrunched up pillows. 

"I need coffee," Gibbs said after a few moments of silence, "and I'm gonna call McGee, get an update on the case. Back in 10." Tony nodded, but when it became clear he would remain silent, Gibbs grabbed his wallet off of the nightstand, and got up. They could talk later.

As he walked down the hallway, he flipped open his phone, ignoring once again the dismayed looks from passersby. 

"What've you got, McGee?" A quick account of the case followed, as McGee took him through the main points. 

"Ok. See if you can uncover more about their operation. Get a warrant and have Ziva head a team to search their homes and other known addresses. Vance'll assign her a couple of agents." 

"How's Tony doing, Boss?" McGee asked after a moment of silence. 

"He looks like hell, but he'll live."

"Don't be too hard on him, Boss. He meant well."

"I know, McGee." Gibbs ended the call. A couple of minutes later, he was standing outside the entrance enjoying his first cup of coffee of the day. He'd picked up a sandwich and the morning paper at the cafeteria for later. The conversation in Tony's room kept playing back in his mind. Knowing Tony, he would do anything to make up for his mistake, trying to do too much, too soon. "Not happening," he muttered. There was no way Tony was going to do himself any harm on his watch. He fished out his phone again and called Vance. 

"I need a couple of weeks off, Leon." He turned around and walked back through doors. 

"You're a calling me at seven in the morning to ask for time off?" Vance asked, annoyance bleeding into his voice. "In the middle of an investigation into the assault on your senior agent?"

"McGee is heading up the case; his collar, his case. I've got months of vacation on the books, Leon. Tony's probably up there harassing the staff into releasing him early. That’s fine, but he's coming home with me. I need to keep an eye on him."

"You and DiNozzo, stuck under the same roof for two weeks? Good luck with that," Vance replied, sounding a bit more cheerful. "Just don't shoot him, Jethro and keep him out of trouble. He'll be released into Ducky's care, I presume?"

"Yes. I haven't talked to him yet, but I'm sure he can't resist the DiNozzo charm," Gibbs replied dryly.

"I'll have the paperwork ready later today," Vance said, before ending the call. 

Gibbs paused outside Tony's room, draining the last of the coffee while wondering whether to call Ducky. He noticed the door was ajar, and heard voices drifting into the corridor. Ducky. Gibbs smiled and pushed the door fully open. The older man was in the middle of one of his stories. Gibbs was relieved to see Tony looking a little better; there was even a small smile on his face as he listened to the doctor. 

"…as you can imagine, my father was not amused by the prospect of replacing all of Mrs. Duncan's…" He became aware of Gibbs and turned around. "Jethro! I was just telling young Anthony here about the time when my cousin Leslie and I raided poor Mrs. Duncan's…"

"Ducky," Gibbs interrupted, sensing another long-winded story coming. "I need a word," he said, nodding towards the hallway.

"Of course, Jethro," Dr. Mallard replied, patting Tony's hand as he got up. "We'll be right back, my dear boy."

"Has he asked you to spring him, yet?" Gibbs asked, with a grin when Ducky emerged into the hallway. 

"Only five times in the last five minutes," the doctor chuckled. 

"Is he well enough to be released?" Gibbs leaned against the wall and fished the sandwich out of his jacket pocket. Although his team probably thought he survived on coffee alone, he was actually feeling hungry. 

"I'd rather he stayed another day, but knowing Anthony, he's likely to sign himself out. I can have him released into my care," he said with a wry shake of his head, "and there is no point in keeping him here if the attending doctor gives him the all clear. I am afraid, though, that he will return to work far too soon."

"He's coming home with me," Gibbs said firmly, finishing off his sandwich. 

"That's all well and good, Jethro, but you should have someone be there with him when you're at work. If he's left to his own devices, he will do something foolish, I'm sure."

"I'm taking a couple of weeks off," Gibbs replied, jutting his chin out defiantly. He was sure Ducky's notion of his ability to take care of DiNozzo wasn't any better than Vance's. 

A strange blend of emotions flickered across Ducky's face and disappeared before Gibbs could make them out. 

"I see. Yes, well, you haven't had a vacation in far too long, and I'm sure Anthony will appreciate the sentiment. Do try and be gentle with him, Jethro," Dr. Mallard admonished. "He's bound to get on your nerves, cooped up like that."

"I'm not an idiot," Gibbs retorted. 

Ducky mumbled something Gibbs didn't quite catch, although he did make out the words 'dense' and 'under your nose'. Gibbs frowned, wondering what the doctor was on about. 

"I'll have to take your word for that, Special Agent Gibbs," Ducky replied, still looking doubtful. "Now, should we go and break the good news to the poor boy?"


End file.
